Tug of War
by mebh
Summary: Hours before his State Certification exam, Roy is ambushed by a surprise enemy.


**Disclaimer: I don't own!**

**Naughtiness follows!**

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><p>This was it. His day. The beginning of everything. His state certification exam.<p>

He set one alarm three hours earlier than required, and the other to ring ten minutes after that. The second alarm was self-fashioned, designed so that one had to turn a series of dials before the shrill ringing ceased. Not that he much required it. Roy Mustang rose with the sun every single morning, and was showered and fresh before condensation even had time to settle on the milk bottles deposited outside.

Turning the faucet off with three sharp twists, he stepped shivering from the shower and scooted down the landing, fluffy white towel barely clinging to his skinny hips. Hands – raw from over-practice – shook as he peeled the towel from himself and started drying.

Hughes had tried to coax him out for a few steadying drinks the night before but Mustang, armed with every ounce of stubborness his aunt had nurtured in him, politely, impolitely and finally aggressively refused. Hughes had grieved his choice with particular energy before sloping off to the Xingese district alone, nothing to keep him company but a crumpled two-hundred cenz note. Even one of the new girls had offered to 'relieve any tension' he might be feeling before Christmas swooped in and sent her off to clean out the sump in the basement. Mustang banked the girl's interest for a later date; he had more important things to worry about and couldn't hazard being sleep deprived the following day. He read about rugby players who left their wives in order to sleep in isolation the night before a match. He couldn't blame them. Got to retain that bubbling testosterone.

Still though...

His knees went weak for a moment and something slapped against his belly. Looking down, he saw his penis giving a cheerful morning salute, waving like a flagpole in a strong breeze. How inconvenient.

He placed his hands on his hips, regarding the joyful little member and puffing out an irritated sigh. He glanced back towards his door. No lock. Still, no fear of his aunt waking at this hour, and certainly not the girls.

Outside, there wasn't a single sound. The revellers of the Merchant District were dead to the world; coiled together in damp sheets, strange scents and unknown names. He gave himself a little flick with his fingers, watching his reflected member bob in the mirror.

"Down," he commanded. The thing winked back at him. It either didn't realise or didn't care that he had been saving any reserves of masculinity for his approaching assessment. He needed to be in peak condition, and as a scientist, he was well aware of the power of fractions. Anything could make a difference.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his wet hair, the cool water on his palm doing nothing to subdue the little chap nodding merrily as he shifted from foot to foot.

"You win," he said, and grabbed it with an annoyed grunt.

His black eyes stared back at him from the mirror as he spoke, his voice trembling with the effort.

"You are Roy Mustang. You are the only man on this planet who can do what you do. You are a genius. The air bends to your will. You can pluck argon out of the atmosphere, and ah-"

He swapped hands.

"Split... God... there's hydrogen and... fifteen degrees... come on you little bastard!"

He spat and regrouped. He was always in the top one percent of his tactics class.

"Neon... a trace... carbon..." A grunt. "Monoxide... I just snap... going to be massive... better than any of you... explosions!"

Everything happened at once. Everything. The alarm springing to life, shattering the world; the enemy's pitiful retreat; the turn of the door handle; the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sucking noise of his aunt pulling air through bared teeth.

"Oh my," she said with what Roy gauged was mock surprise. He guessed she really must have seen everything.

He didn't turn to meet her. He didn't need to. His reflection was doing a perfectly fine job of showing to her her nephew, still wet from the shower, blood racing from south to north where it pooled in his glowing cheeks, and belly covered with the spoils of war.

"Oh my god," he supplied.

"Breakfast in ten minutes," she said, placing the mug delicately on the chest of drawers. "Young man like you needs his energy."

He nodded dumbly and turned off the alarm with an outstretched hand.

The door closed with a quiet creak, conveniently failing to smother the stifled laughter disappearing down the hallway.

He showered again and dressed in a haze of scorching embarrassment. Entering the kitchen, he grunted a second 'good morning' to his aunt who stood suspiciously at the stove, face obscured. Ha. Ha. Settling himself at the table, he reached for a piece of toast.

"I hope you washed your hands," said his aunt with her back still turned.

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><p>Thanks!<p> 


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